Mudblood Diaries
by Lyrei
Summary: Before Hogwarts, Hermione Granger went to a school catering to both muggle and magical children. A small blond boy found out about her magic before anyone else, and did something that dramatically changed her life for the worse: he told his father. AU
1. can't google it

**Summary: **Hermione Granger's life before Hogwarts. She goes to a school full of muggle and magical children alike, and a certain blonde finds out about her magic _before_ anyone else, and does something that drastically changes her life for the worst: he tells his father. A/U, modern.

**Warnings:** Set in modern times (expect mentions of iPhones, Google, Wikipedia, Macs etc. etc.). Child abuse in later chapters.

Looking for a beta.

* * *

"Sometimes, your knight in shining armour is just a _retard_ in tin foil."

**.**  
**.  
.**

everyone can smile even in the harshest of circumstances.  
but sometimes, you need a nudge every now and then.

.  
.

**Mudblood Diaries  
**LYREI

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**ONE.  
**can't google it

_showtime._

_

* * *

__Forest Pine Mansion: night._

_Insomnia is a symptom which can accompany several sleep, medical and psychiatric disorders, __characterized by persistent difficulty falling asleep and/or difficulty staying asleep. Insomnia is typically followed by functional impairment while awake, _Hermione read, biting her lip in distress and eradicating the last trace of her cherry lip gloss in the proccess. She flipped quickly to "Treatment for insomnia", but the only thing she had access to without telling her parents was alcohol, and Hermione knew that there was no way she was going to drink alcohol, insomnia or not.

She frowned as she shut the laptop, her pretty face scrunching up into one of acute frustration. Wikipedia and Google had never failed her before. Still, she comforted the sleek Mac, it wasn't its fault. It was just that Hermione couldn't, and didn't want to, tell her parents about it. _(Because therapist equals to PSYCHO ALERT in school.)_

Her parents... they were both well-known dentists, though her mother had briefly flirted with the idea of becoming a neurologist before. She had blanched at the amount of time she needed to spend away from her daughter however, and had stayed a dentist instead. Both were adept dentists and brought in more and more money each year as people grew more appreciative of their talents in not making their twice-a-year visit more horrible than they had anticipated it to be. That all changed a few years ago, though. Her father wasn't a gambling man, but he had a quick intuition when it came to playing in the stock market. Actually, that was a bit of an understatement.

Their financial advisor had called her dad a genius, and her dad had actually _blushed_.

Bidding farewell to their semi-detached home, the family happily moved into the richer districts of Beaconsfield, Buckinghamshire, and Hermione was entered into one of the most expensive private schools in the country. Her new friends convinced her that not studying for a while wasn't so bad after all, when they could just relax and hang out in the richer parts of town. But being friends with the heirs of millionaires had taken its toll on Hermione, and she began to obsess over planning outfits, accessories, and... homework? Homework was midnight only.

And _bam, _that was when the whole insomnia business had started.

Hermione sighed and got off her bed, looking critically at the outfit laid out before her. The light blue checkered jacket that hung off her shoulders and onto her arms like a shawl and the strappy cotton top screamed casual country, but with her hair in elegant curls and shiny white and black Chanel ballet flats, she could make it look fashion-forward. She wasn't sure whether to go with black short jean shorts with dull brass buttons that told the world I'm-rich-but-I'm-wearing-ripped-shorts-anyway with sheer black tights, or a small miniskirt. Frowning, she consulted her huge walk-in wardrobe, begging the fashion gods for divine trendy inspiration.

"Skirt is kinda boring," she admitted to herself, and boring just wouldn't do. The shorts looked nice with her lightly tanned legs, now that it was summer… But would it be too snobby? She didn't know for sure until she called her best friend, but Naomi would probably remove Hermione from the top of her friends list that she kept taped to her locker door for calling her at- Hermione moved her Tiffany charm bracelet out of the way to look at her Chanel chunky white watch and silently yelped. It was thirteen past twelve! It was a miracle she never got eyebags, and she offered up a prayer to God.

_Please don't let me have eyebags, _she prayed desperately, _and I will love you forever. _

Hermione knew she was ignoring her pile of homework more and more, favouring obsessing over superficial stuff like clothes, make-up and the newest obsession and direct cause of lovesickness in Aerallis Landon Primary, one blond-haired, stuck-up, Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, to Hermione's distaste, had managed to get even _Naomi _batting her sweeping eyelashes at him. Everytime she did that, Hermione couldn't help throwing up in her mouth a little because Draco Malfoy was just _that... _icky. She wouldn't _ever_ admit it though, even under torture.

Malfoy was one of what she dubbed the "gifted" kids, not in a bad way, but in an envious way that had her stomach twisting in jealousy. He was part of the small group of elite students that got mysteriously yanked away to 'extra lessons', plus the teachers seemed to do whatever they said. They weren't at the top of the food chain, they were **above** it.

Hermione had managed to befriend, or at least become acquaintances with one of the gifted kids, and _no more quotation marks please_. His name was Theodore Nott, a really quiet kid that didn't seem to have many friends. He wasn't _cold, _Hermione would defend Theo when her friends mocked him, he was just a bit of a loner, that was all. As much as Hermione grilled Theo for information, he just shook his head and smiled simply while looking down at his tailored leather shoes. So. Annoying.

Maybe it was because of the way she deliberately snubbed Malfoy while his fangirls hung on to his every word, but the smug _b-word _had taken to hanging around her these days, making her really uncomfortable.

What had he said the other day, anyway? "You don't need that stuff on your face," he had drawled, knocking the eyeliner from her hands onto the floor. "Just makes you uglier."

And _that _was the problem, Hermione fumed- he thought she was _ugly. _Ugly! Hermione dug into her pink quilted Marc Jacobs bag and produced a large mirror, which she held up to inspect herself with. Her light bulb mirror, which she had demanded last year when she was _eight, _just didn't work as well as her Clinique compact mirror.

Hermione could safely say she was anything _but _ugly. She had striking eyes and _yes, _they were _brown,_ but she couldn't do anything about them, and her hair was brown as well, but she made sure they were a _very _glossy auburn before she even stepped out of her house. She was noted to be very pretty, even by Aerallis Landon Primary's impossibly high standards; model-esque like Naomi was, and her skin was always flawless, which could be because she was _nine_, and her lips were always lightly glossed with Lancôme Ultra Shiny Gloss- cherry tree shade, of course, and her lashes were always curled and alluring. And she was stylish! And smart to _boot, _thought she looked a little guiltily at her small stack of overdue homework. She still couldn't bring herself to let Naomi hand her workload off to what her best friend called "the lower class".

No, she was definitely the opposite of ugly, and the opposite of lazy as well. Malfoy was such a liar, but she didn't dare to say so in public. Calling one of the most popular kids in school, even though she was one herself, the L-word was social suicide. Even Naomi wouldn't be able to dig her out of that hole if she got in it. No, she'd just go another day in school, tolerating the smug b-word and trying her best to listen to teachers without looking like she was actually paying attention. _(Because being known as a nerd didn't exactly help her social standing, Naomi had said.)_

Hermione Jean Granger lead a dangerous double life.

Luckily, things were looking up. Malfoy's stocks had begun to go down, Hermione thought with the professional air of a dentist-slash-investor's daughter, while Blaise Zabini's had just shot through the roof. With that thought, Hermione reached out for a scarlet ringbinder folder that she kept lying around just for these purposes, and consulted her contents page.

According to her contents, Malfoy's details were kept on wallet number twenty-three, so she quickly flipped through the plastic sleeves until she pulled out everything she had ever written about Malfoy out, and reached for a red marker. She promptly drew a line straight down to seven out of the scale of ten, in her popularity-time graph. Hermione smirked. His popularity had been off the charts lately, managing up to about _eighteen _out of ten, but as Newton's first law said: what goes up has to come down.

Effortlessly sliding the small bundle of papers covered in her impeccable handwriting, Hermione shifted Zabini's sleeve from the demure yellow of the B-Lister ringbinder to the bright red one for A-listers, and marked his popularity up to twelve. It was psycho times ten, Hermione admitted, but it gave her a feeling of control when she had graphs, statistics, and a detailed report laid out before her.

Naomi did the same thing, but she did it with her 'ranking list'. In fact, every Wednesday since she was four, she came to Hermione's house and together, they exploited her research to draw up the new ranking list. The ranking list only showed the top ten people in her year group, but Naomi made sure that the demise of those less popular were immediately pointed out with a damning red arrowed going down, a neatly penned number beside it deciding that person's fate. The list, when taped on Naomi's locker, ended social lives or started them.

She studied her own graph for the week. Her popularity had gone down a little on Tuesday, she noticed with a frown- only sixteen 'hey's an hour. But still, the results showed that overall greetings were way down this week, so despite her uncannily low numbers, she'd still keep her place in the top five. Satisfied, Hermione put the folder to one side and climbed into bed, hoping that sleep would come quickly.

It didn't happen.

Half an hour later, she climbed out of bed wordlessly and began to do some maths homework. Because every nine year old with insomnia did maths homework past midnight. So. Damn. _Normal. _She glanced at her glow-in-the-dark clock and frowned, rubbing her eyes blearily. It was one a.m, and the world was so quiet except for the scratching of pen against paper.

_I need to sleep, dammit._

* * *

_Aeriallis Landon Primary: Paracelsus Corridor_

Draco Malfoy frowned, watching Granger laugh with the large group surrounding her and Naomi De Santis with a critical eye. Something was off with that girl. Her appearance? No, she looked _pretty_, Draco admitted to himself. He liked to think he was a fashion connoisseur and was highly critical of the clothing most children around him more. De Santis had managed to surprise him a few times, when she wasn't obsessing over everything Marc Jacobs, but Granger was kind of nice for a muggle, and dressed rather well. The casual checkered clothes and the slightly puffy cotton top meeting chic chanel flats was nice, but Malfoy privately thought the black leggings under her jean shorts weren't her usual casual chic style, and the flats were perhaps too logo-ed. But most people were nice, and most people in this school dressed well. So why on earth was he concerned for her _her_ of all people?

Her eyes looked slightly glazed over and her smile was a shade too fake.

Maybe he was obsessively overanalyzing again, but he could never tell with the muggle girl. She was a little too different from the other muggles- when others adored him, she snubbed him with her little muggle nose up in the air. Draco frowned. He would have to study the girl further. Draco Malfoy hated anything that he didn't understand, the reason why he was the top of the year. And, Draco thought to himself, how was he going to excel as his father's political heir if he couldn't even understand a simple muggle?

No, that wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all.

"Granger," he drawled in a commanding voice, as the first bell rang and the crowd dispersed, "come here."

Hermione's face immediately melted into one of extreme annoyance. It was far too early to deal with a b-word like Malfoy. Besides, it was time to go to class, even if it was Drama. "What do you mean, _come here_?" Hermione gritted her teeth as she noticed Naomi and the rest of their hanger-ons looking closely at them. She had to keep up appearances, as the second most popular girl in their year and the third most popular overall, now that Zabini's stock had gone up. "I'm not your _dog._"

"Whatever," Draco smirked, making Hermione redden beneath her blusher. She had studied the W-word in her sleepless nights, but she still hadn't come up with a strategy against it. It was just too cool and laid-back, and anyone who went up against it instantly lost popularity points. Draco looked at the crowd with slanted grey eyes, gleaming with mild disgust. "What are you waiting for? Get lost."

The crowd got lost immediately, but De Santis stayed there, looking at him challengingly. "Hermione," she said, deliberately ignoring him, "I'll cover for you, but five minutes max."

Hermione forced her glossed lips to curve up and nodded slightly, thanking her best friend, and Naomi left, the sharp click-clack of her heels against the floor fading away quickly. As soon as Naomi was out of ear-shot, Hermione glared at Malfoy. "What do you want?"

"I want to know what goes on in that ugly head of yours," Draco smirked, "and you have five minutes to tell me." _Why isn't she like the others? Bow down to my __**superiority**__._

Hermione clenched her fist unconsciously, but quickly unclenched them- she had her French manicure to think about. She wasn't ugly! "Mostly, I'm thinking about how _annoying _you are," Hermione snapped, and Draco put a hand over his heart, pretending to be wounded.

"Your words cut through my heart," he deadpanned, "but seriously. What's wrong with you?"

Hermione quickly changed tactics- maybe her insomnia was getting to her? She had an itch to get her mirror out and check herself- she had to look fabulous times ten or lose points. "Why Malfoy, I'd think you're actually concerned," she said demurely, her lashes fluttering in mock-swoon. "You're making my heart beat so fast."

"Yes," Draco agreed, knowing the muggle was playing him, "I tend to have that effect on girls." He wasn't joking, either.

Aww, pre-puberty _crushes_.

Hermione sighed, deciding to look "serious". Sure, Malfoy was the king of bluff, but maybe she could convince him? "I'm serious, Malfoy," she told him, injecting slight annoyance into her voice, "there's nothing wrong with me. Get that into your thick head, will you?" She was so tired she was going to fall asleep straight in first period, and god have mercy on any teacher, student or flying pig that tried to wake her.

Then she stalked off, flats slapping quickly against the ground as she left Malfoy standing there. Alone and unwanted, she thought with a vindictive smile, but quickly wiped it off her face. _Fifth nicest in the year, _she reminded herself, and a calm smile replaced it instead. _I'm gonna die of exhaustion_.

A few metres away, Draco raised an eyebrow. Granger had to be the _worst _liar in the school. _The Lady doth protest too much, methinks, _he smirked. Malfoy slipped his hand into the pocket of his blue Armani Junior blazer, and curled around a bottle that contained the potion he had innocently asked Mr. Avery if they could try brewing yesterday. With a sense of pride after finishing the trick potion, Draco had labelled it as neatly as he could with his elegant handwriting: _the common-cold brew._

Ah, Granger, Malfoy couldn't help smiling as he walked towards Drama, the heat from his palm warming up the potion, the games we play are just too fun.

* * *

_Aerallis Landon Primary: Drama house: Room Thalia._

When she first came to Beaconsfield, Hermione was a _mess. _A gawky face, uneven teeth, and, she couldn't help wincing at the recollection, _frizzy hair. _Her clothes were unfashionable bright shirts and jeans, plus she always carried a book as thick as a dictionary, if not a dictionary, around with her. She had been hellishly nosy and stubborn, always assuming she was right, and she had always been secretly called "that annoying nerd" behind her back. Bossy, too.

When she first met Naomi, Hermione had been stunned. Here was an impossibly pretty girl, wearing really nice clothes and looking down at her contemptuously. "So, you're the new neighbours," she had sneered, frowning. When Hermione merely nodded, Naomi looked disgusted.

"I can't have neighbours looking like _you _living so close to _me,_" she screeched, putting her slender arms on her hips, exotic green eyes glaring. "I _like _this mansion," she mumbled to herself, "and you probably won't move… So," she glared at a quivering Hermione, "we've got to change _you._"

Then the Italian girl had looked her up and down, nodding to herself. "Really nice skin, and your hair colour and eyes aren't _too _bad, but we pity we can't do something about that _brown,_" she said, disgusted, flipping her own light ash-blond hair. "Can't do anything about the teeth, but the clothes have _got _to go," she declared, and she dragged Hermione into her mansion, refusing to listen to the poor girl's stammering.

"Oh shush," Naomi had snapped while throwing open the door to her enormous room, "I simply _can't _have friends around while a… a… _hobo _lives so near! Simply can't," she pronounced again, ignoring the choked sound Hermione made at being called a 'hobo'. The girl wasn't very nice, Hermione frowned. She had hoped for someone who liked books and learning new things, not someone who called her a **hobo**.

But Naomi had loaned her some clothes while making her leave her book on her table, immediately requesting that her chauffeur drive them to 'Donny', because they had a severe 'fashion emergency'. After Donny had pronounced her passably pretty for Naomi's standards, recommending that Naomi brought her to him for touch ups once a week, Naomi had taught her what she called popularity lessons. Lessons on _discretely _nosing into someone's business, while being so popular people felt _privileged _that you cared about their stupid problems. But it worked. For the first time in her short life, Hermione felt _pretty, _and interesting, with some mysterious giddying power over others called 'more popular than thou'.

No, Hermione decided as she slid into the empty space beside her best friend, Naomi wasn't a very nice person. But as she smiled gratefully at her best friend and got an eye-roll in return, Hermione found she really didn't care.

"Alright class," Mr. Dylts clapped his hands eagerly, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm, "now that _everyone _is here, I can finally tell you the fantastic news! We're going to do a Shakespearean play!"

If Mr. Dylts was waiting for applause, he would have been kept waiting for a long time. The entire class was looking at him in stony silence, Hermione silently wondering if the Drama teacher had finally lost it. Shakespeare was bad enough, but having to do an actual play on one of his dishwater-dull works? No _freaking _way. What was going to happen to her dream of falling asleep in first period?

"Bagsy not being a guy or a tree," Naomi said, sounding supremely bored, like she was filing her nails. "Hermione bagsies not being one too."

_I love you Naomi_.

Hermione had always been the tree in school plays. There was an immediate scramble over not getting the worst parts in the play, Naomi exchanging a bored look with Hermione. "Honestly," she scoffed, raising an eyebrow, "_someone_ has to do it. Just not us."

Hermione smiled, silently thanking the Sicilian girl. "I know, but I really don't want to learn lines." _No, I just want to hug the sandman._

"Especially not from _Shakespeare,_" Naomi agreed, her eyes narrowed as she pronounced the name with immense disgust. "I mean honestly, when we read stuff from him in English, it's _awful_. At least we can text under the table," she grinned.

The chaos continued for a few minutes before Mr. Dylts managed to clamber onto the top of the Grand Piano in the Drama Hall, his eyes furious and lips a thin line. "Be _quiet, _all of you!" he shouted, and almost magically, everyone immediately shut up without a murmur. "Thank _you._ We'll be doing Twelfth Night, and it'll be our own interpretation."

There was a round of giggles at that. Modern interpretations were always hilarious. Hermione felt a sign of relief wash over her- normal Shakespeare was so dry and boring. "Alright, get into five groups of three, take a paper and a pen, and start jotting down ideas!"

Naomi grabbed Hermione and swivelled her around to expertly survey the crowd of hopefuls, wondering who they should pick today. Hermione suggested Vanessa, but the idea was quickly shot down by Naomi. Not with what she's wearing today, she whispered, and they giggled. Olivia was too boring, but Anna was hilarious _and _trendy. But before Hermione could grab her arm, Malfoy joined them.

"Zabini got into a little bit of trouble there," he smirked, gesturing over at the tall boy, mobbed by starry-eyed girls, "so I've come to join you, Granger, De Santis."

Before Hermione could snap at Malfoy to get lost and wipe the stupid smirk off his face, Naomi squeezed her arm and agreed in sugary tones that made Hermione want to puke. "We'd love to have you join us," flashing one of her predatory smiles. "Hermione _especially_."

Hermione glared discretely at Naomi but she couldn't get mad; not in front of Malfoy. "Sure," she said nonchalantly, flipping her hair over her shoulder, "I'll go get the paper."

"Oh no, Olivia will, won't you, Olivia?" The dark-haired girl blinked and immediately handed over the sheaf of A2 paper in her arms to them, along with three black markers and the old and modern version of the first Act. "Thanks Livi," Naomi cooed, and the girl smiled, happy at being acknowledged. Hermione gazed admiringly at her best friend. No matter what, she just felt bad at manipulating popularity-starved people to "rightfully do your bidding", as Naomi called it. She had been bossy before, but she didn't _use_ people.

Malfoy took two markers and handed one to Hermione, who muttered a grudging word of thanks, while Naomi naturally took charge, writing their names in her swirly handwriting. "Okay, so any ideas, Hermione, Draco?"

Hermione racked her brains. Originality, she thought, was not one of her strongest points. "Werewolves," she offered, thinking back to the horror movie marathon they had last Halloween, where the themes were pretty much werewolves and vampires. Everyone had loved it. "Viola can be a werewolf pretending to be a guy."

"Sounds good," Malfoy agreed, and Naomi scribbled the idea down, drawing a heart next to it. "And Olivia could be a vampire, so she can't go out into the sun, and always wears black anyway."

Hermione had to agree that it actually sounded sounded like a pretty good idea. Strange like hers, but still pretty good. She couldn't remember Malfoy going to the Movie Marathon, though. "How about we make the Captain the Flying Dutchman?" Naomi suggested, and Hermione agreed immediately. Mr. Dyltts would love that kind of eccentric stuff, and they'd get graded an A star for sure.

"Yeah, that sounds good as well. I'm going to get a drink… you want anything?"

Naomi shook her head, but Hermione nodded. A cup of orange juice didn't sound too bad to her, and it wasn't like asking Malfoy to get her one damaged her reputation any. Malfoy smirked, and put his hand in his blazer pocket. _Poser, _Hermione couldn't help thinking, but guiltily wiped that thought from her head, turning back to focus on the script.

"Okay, so I'm thinking that it should all be like, in a high school, Illyria High?" Naomi _would _think that, but Hermione went along with it. 'It should be full of monsters and stuff, but Orsino could be the headmaster and Olivia could be the sexy Head of English, while Viola's just a random English sub that's a werewolf but has to look like a guy because she's an unclaimed lady…"

* * *

_Forest Pine __Mansion, morning._

Hermione felt like she was about to empty her intestines onto the floor, and her head felt as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Her butler had taken one look at her and told her she wasn't going to go to school, no matter how important she claimed the drama project was. Hermione wasn't really in a position to complain, however.

Despite the aspirin, she knew she was really sick, so the last thing she wanted to do was to put up with Malfoy while sitting in school all day, looking like something the cat dragged in. Hermione refused to go into school without looking like an airbrushed model. Laying her head back against her soft pillow, Hermione coughed weakly, wondering if she could convince her parents to let her have the flu shot, because she didn't want to feel this bad ever again. She started to feel a little drowsy from the cough syrup and her eyes started to flutter shut.

"I never knew someone so small could sleep so much," someone remarked.

"I am _not_ small," Hermione snapped as she rose from the bed upright with her eyes narrowed, "I'm perfectly normal-sized." Her jaw dropped slightly when she saw Draco Malfoy just standing there against the doorway like he belonged there. She clicked her jaw sharply upwards.

Malfoy nodded approvingly. "You do look less ugly without all that stuff on your face," he told her tactlessly with a small smile as he strolled right into the room. Offhandedly, he dumped a bouquet of flowers onto Hermione's bedside table and held a glass out to her with a pale blue liquid inside. "Butler told me to hand this to you. I hope you get better, bla bla bla, and De Santis mentioned she was going to murder you for not texting her; you had her worried for all of five seconds," he rolled his eyes.

Hermione knew Malfoy was probably right about Naomi; that she was just a bit too shallow, but the thing was, Naomi was also her _best friend._ And Draco Malfoy didn't have the right to talk about her best friend that way, even if it was the truth. She was just going to tell him off when he yelped loudly and pressed his hand to his mouth.

"Hey, are you okay?" Hermione frowned when Malfoy shook his head, his eyes squeezed tight in pain. "Come on, give me your hand." He looked suspiciously at her like a wounded animal- kind of like _Bambi,_ really, but she wasn't going to tell him that- and slowly held out his hand. Hermione pulled him down to sit on the bed with her, just in case he decided to faint from the sight of blood.

She winced.

"The roses in the bouquet cut me, I think."

The cut wasn't very large, but looked deep, like someone had cut it with a knife. No wonder he was whimpering like Bambi- actually, no, there was no excuse for why he was whimpering like Bambi. "Stop being a wimp," she barked at him, "_your_ mother wasn't shot by a hunter."

Draco looked at her, a little hurt, and more than confused- what was that about his mother? Hermione smacked herself mentally for making a Bambi reference. Naomi would _never_ let her live it down. She cradled his hand in hers, wondering if she had any plasters lying around. His skin was super pale, whiter than the white shirt he wore under his blazer, and the cut _did_ look kind of bad. She looked at her cell phone on the table with the flowers. Maybe she could call Jefferson up if it was really serious, but for now-

"Oh my god."

Hermione blinked and her eyebrows creased up into a questioning look. She never thought Draco Malfoy was the religious type, but first appearances were always deceptive, she guessed. "What's the matter now? I'll call Jefferson up-"

"No need," Malfoy said in a small, odd voice, "look. At my hand."

Hermione looked dumbfounded as she stared at the wound- or extreme lack of it. His pale skin _(whiter than his white starched shirt) _was flawless, as if he had never been cut at all.

"Holy crap, you're a really fast healer," she congratulated him. That was going to come in handy for him some day, or maybe he could be a magician or something. His shows, Hermione reflected, would be very gory. And maybe he could donate his body to medical science when he died, so other people could heal as superfast as he did.

"I don't think it was me," Draco said quietly, looking strangely at her. In retaliation, Hermione looked strangely at him right back. "I… I have to go. See you tomorrow."

"Um, okay? Bye."

But despite everything, Hermione didn't feel as desperately tired as yesterday even if she felt like she was going to _die_. She was starting to feel better, but she decided not to risk it and grabbed the glass Draco had brought up.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was a _really_ strange kid, Hermione mused, but it was nice of him to bring flowers. And thank god the roses weren't red- now _that_ would be awkward. Delicately, she sniffed the bouquet. It really was a lovely bouquet with sunflowers, red daisies, tiger lilies and the roses with tons of green leaves, but there was one large sunflower hidden in the back that looked wilted. It was a pity really, and it kind of spoilt the whole bouquet. She would have to pluck it out.

The flower came back to life the moment she grasped it.

It made her feel like crying, but she didn't. She was **strong**- Naomi had said so, and her best friend was never wrong. So she had to _act_ strong, at the very least. Okay, she was going to think of the whole thing in a calm, rational manner, because things like these always had a logical explanation. Her eyes flicked to her Mac.

_Safari:_

ENTER.  
_super healing_

Her fingers hovered over the enter key, but she eventually shut the window and closed the laptop, snuggling back into her bed.

Some things just couldn't be googled.

**

* * *

**

"Father, I think Hermione Granger used magic today."

"A muggleborn then. It isn't that rare, unfortunately."

"Her magic… It's kind of different. It isn't the usual shattering glass or turning someone a different colour."

Lucius Malfoy put down his newspaper and looked at his son, who swallowed nervously. He had to make this good, because he didn't want to find out the punishment for disturbing his father when he was reading the paper. The blond man waved a careless hand at his son, gesturing for him to continue, but there was a severity to his mouth that indicated that he wasn't pleased with the distraction.

"Explain."

* * *

A/N: This was a challenge by Dont Diss Einstein over at Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges. This is what she said:

"How did Hermione find out that she was a witch? She would have received her letter, obviously, but what signs of magic showed up before then? What was her reaction? What were the reactions of others? How were these things explained away by Muggles? It should be a story about the very young Hermione and how she discovered she was more than she appeared to be."

Hehe, only I replaced 'received her letter' with 'freaked Draco Malfoy out by healing him'. Subtle, Hermione, subtle.


	2. add some blusher

**if you change the way you **_**look**_** at things  
****the things you look at **_**change**_

**.**

**.**

**.**

_**Mudblood Diaries**_

Bruised petals

**II: add some blusher**

**.**

"_Magic is believing in yourself, if you can do that, you can make anything happen."  
__Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_

_

* * *

_

It wasn't something Hermione was going to advertise to the whole world, but the first thing she had noticed after registration was over was this: Draco Malfoy wasn't in school. What a little skiver, she had groused, but he _had_ been pretty freaked out over what happened yesterday. She had been completely freaked too, heck, she had been _ill _to add the icing to the cake, but _she_ hadn't skived.

What a wimp.

"Hermione? Hermione! Have you even been paying attention to what I've been saying?" Naomi's voice became increasingly shrill as Hermione just looked dumbly at her. _Oops._

"Duh," she reassured her best friend, "it's not like there's anything better to pay attention to." Hermione felt incredibly guilty as she nodded her head towards the preacher. He was preaching the word of God and she was insulting him… she winced. Definitely going to go to hell for that. But the word of God was really, _really_ boring.

_Bad Hermione_, she yelled at herself,_ take that thought back!_

"True," Naomi agreed with a satisfied smile, "anyway, did you see Draco this morning? Didn't see you and him having a go at each other, which is _weird_."

"We don't _always_ have a goat each other," Hermione snapped, blushing in embarrassment.

"Oh yeah? You _so_ do. I can tell you're blushing through your blusher."

_Sigh._

Good _morning _to you too, Aeriallis Landon Primary.

* * *

_After school, carpark._

"You could try screaming," the man said casually, as if discussing the weather, "but then I'm afraid I might not be so _nice_. Do you want to scream?"

Damn it, she had just wanted to go home and eat some ice cream! Hermione quickly shook her head, no. She knew a threat when she heard one, and wasn't stupid enough to make the man angry. She quickly went through all of Naomi's lessons in her mind, wondering if Naomi had ever taught what to do if she was held hostage. Of course she had.

"Since our dads are both ridiculously rich, some numskulls might get it into their stupid heads to try and kidnap us to get money. Idiots," Naomi scoffed, flipping her long hair over her shoulder. Hermione blinked- kidnap? No one would kidnap her... right? "One of daddy's bodyguards is coming around later to teach me what to do, but you better stick around as well. I don't want you getting hurt, okay? Not with that fabulous French manicure," Naomi added, smirking, dispelling the tension between them easily. Hermione laughed, relieved. Naomi's voice had gone softer, almost tender when she talked about getting hurt, and it had scared Hermione a little. Naomi was infallible; immortal. She was that kind of person. If Naomi was scared, then Hermione had a good reason to be absolutely petrified.

The bodyguard had, in all seriousness, told them to check for any obvious sign of guns. Bulges in jackets meant that the person was quite amateur, but still be wary. No bulges, but professional-looking, meant that they had a gun but could afford a suit, which meant they weren't above incapacitating her with a bullet to the leg or the arm. Non-lethal, but it'd be bad news, so he advised that they shouldn't try running even when there was an obvious path away.

Hermione checked the two men out: same Armani suit, no bulges. She gulped, feeling her body tense. The man noticed it too, and his arm around her tightened.

"No, I'm not going to scream," Hermione said reassuringly, and the man looked quite a bit crestfallen.

"Are you _absolutely_ sure," he asked hesitantly, with a wounded look on his face. "I mean, I don't mind a bit of screaming every now and then…"

"I'm not going to scream," Hermione replied firmly.

"Oh, well. Alright then. No need to get snappy."

The next thing Naomi's bodyguard advised was to co-operate with said kidnappers, but every time they appeared to be nice, he warned, think of them as pointing a gun at them. Killers weren't ever kind, or nice, he said, and it'd be stupid to think otherwise. So when the man stopped and offered her a lollipop, Hermione almost screamed and refused politely in her quietest voice. Then the second man thrust the innocent-looking swirly lollipop at her. He was the one that hadn't talked to her before.

"Take the lollipop," he said in a surprisingly melodious voice, and Hermione took it quickly. The man looked at his watch, and Hermione recognized the simple design as a Patek Philippe, and gulped. A very successful professional killer, then. But before she could observe more, she had a sudden sensation of something hooking her behind the navel, jerking her towards something, somewhere.

Suddenly, Hermione felt herself being thrown into a room, and due to dance class or maybe just sheer luck, she managed to land agilely on her feet. She regretted it an instant later when she felt the tremors move up her legs, and suddenly had the urge to sit down. She looked up from her feet and into the cold grey eyes of someone who looked like an older version of Draco Malfoy. His dad, the logical side of her mind guessed, while the rest of her mind was promptly freaking out. She gulped- the man didn't look very welcoming or very impressed and self-consciously, Hermione smoothed down her vintage floral dress and short denim jacket. The man didn't look like a 'daddy', more like an 'I'm-going-to-stab-you-to-death with a fork' person. All traces of disorientation and baffled thoughts of _how the heck did I get here_ vanished, replaced with _oh, crap_.

"You must be Miss Hermione Granger," the man said coolly, wrinkling his nose in subtle distaste. _And you must be a serial killer, _Hermione thought back in return, but she suddenly had the urge to do a quick sniff check- she _had_ sprayed her Clinique Happy today, hadn't she? _Mortifying_. "Answer me when I speak to you."

"Yes, I'm Hermione Granger. It's a pleasure to meet you," Hermione said automatically, the scripted reply flying from her lips before she could edit it. Probably get rid of the "pleasure" part, because meeting him was most definitely _not_ a pleasure.

The man's lips curved upwards into an unkind smirk. "I am Lord Malfoy," the man said, and Hermione began to dissect his voice: aristocratic and privileged, just like Draco's sounded- this man was definitely a Lord Malfoy. Hermione's heartbeat quickened; she'd never really had a one-on-one talk with any of her friends' parents, just the general "oh how's school" and "treat my house like your own" kind of thing. Though Draco couldn't be really considered her friend, his dad was still _weird_ and talking with him _alone_ was terrifying. "Tell me, Miss Granger, what do you know about _magic_?"

Lord Malfoy tone seemed to caress the word "magic", like it was something beautiful, and he spoke it in reverence, like the local priest did when he talked about God. Hermione began to add "really unbelievely weird" to Lord Malfoy's list of un-qualities. "My parents always taught me that magic doesn't exist," Hermione said quietly, knowing that it was a safe enough response. Not insulting, and her tone was perfectly neutral. _I wish I could break your perfect face,_ was another unbidden thought that she quickly squelched in a hurry.

"Ah, but that's because your parents are _muggles_," Lord Malfoy sneered, pronouncing the strange-sounding word like some kind of vulgarity. Hermione thought it sounded like Puggle, a mixed-breed dog. Puggles were so cute, and Naomi had talked about asking for one for Christmas. Could she say _adhorable_? Her parents were definitely adorable too, but not in the cute-and-furry way. Thankfully. "But you, however, are a muggleborn. Which is worse- you're polluting the pools of magic with your... unnaturalness."

Hermione bristled without thinking. Unnaturalness? She was _not_ unnatural! If anyone was being unnatural here, it was him. …Except for the fact she could bring flowers back to life. She flushed as she remembered yesterday's incident. Okay, okay, maybe not so normal after all, but there was no way she was telling him that. "I am _not_ unnatural, and I'm not polluting anything! You're crazy- magic doesn't exist!" Her bright brown eyes narrowed in anger because she was _seriously_ pissed, and Hermione didn't even want to start thinking about how she got to the office.

She was on the floor before she knew what had happened, a tiny hand cradling her bruised cheek. He had... hit her? Tears began to spring to her eyes, but she blinked them back with practiced ease- her eyeliner would get smudged and Naomi had drilled her in _not_ allowing that to happen. Hermione felt smaller than ever as her cheek began to throb painfully. _He hit me_, she thought numbly, her eyes becoming slightly glazed. No one had ever hit her, not even her mum and dad.

"I will not be spoken to in such an insolent manner in my house," Lord Malfoy said quietly, and somehow that coldness, that quietness was worse than the sneering tone. But as she glared at him, she felt her fingertips began to heat up pleasantly, and that pleasant feeling spread over her cheek, comforting and familiar, until the throbbing stopped. Lord Malfoy was looking at her, his eyes narrowed in anger. Good, Hermione thought viciously, pushing the thought of being the fifth nicest girl in the year to the back of her mind. She wanted him to be angry, she wanted to provoke him. He liked to be calm, didn't he? Well Hermione would make sure he'd lose his composure as many times as possible! Also, he hadn't even so much as moved from his seat. How did he hit her then? There was no way... Okay, Hermione told herself firmly, immediate thought blocking _please!_ Things were getting too freaky without adding that on.

"Do _not_ do that," he snapped, and he rose from his stupid chair to yank her up by the arfm. He was holding her so uncomfortably tightly; Hermione knew he'd leave bruises on her soft, delicate skin. Now she could add causing internal bleeding to Malfoy's unquality list. Hermione wanted Malfoy to let go of her because it _hurt_, but he was still holding her tightly, gazing at her cheek. Hating him, and glaring until her eyes hurt, Hermione become so angry, and Lord Malfoy was still holding her so _tightly,_ and she just wanted him to _let go_! Her whole body became warm, her cheeks becoming angrily flushed, and suddenly, the stupid, hated man let go of her, looking at her as if stung. Something wild stirred inside her, wild enough to make the papers on Lord Malfoy's desk shift onto the ground. Good, Hermione thought, mess up his office! He's so neat, so calm, but he _hit me_. No one had the right to hit her.

But he gripped her wrist tightly, angrily again, and looked straight into her eyes. "You will not do that again," he warned, "or there will be consequences. Have you ever studied medical biology? You have _not_. And healing, if performed wrongly, could have disastrous effects on the body. You will _never_ do that again for any living thing until you had received sufficient training."

For the first time in her life, fear, like an alien feeling, crept up on Hermione and seized her, batting away all previous rebellious and rational thoughts. _I'm so scared_."Yes, Lord Malfoy," Hermione said in a small voice, her eyes wide. Fear could overcome a great deal of anger. She just wanted to go home and curl up into a ball, or go to Naomi's house and they could blast out some Britney Spears because _hello_, she needed power music. Hermione looked at the ground rather than look into Malfoy's cold, hard eyes. He was scary. Finally, he let go of her and she immediately rubbed her wrist, hiding her grimace at the purple-blue bruise beginning to form. Hermione felt the tears begin to well up, but she blinked them away, just like before. She had her eyeliner to think about after all, and she wasn't going to cry in front of_ him_.

Malfoy let go of her wrist and started to pace around the room.

"Do you know what adoption is, Miss Granger?"

Weird question, Hermione thought as she rubbed her wrist with a grimace of pain. It really hurt, her brain told her, it really _really hurt, _and her brain suggested that she stop being so smart and tried to be dumb instead. Maybe it would hurt less. Hermione started to nod, but she quickly mumbled a soft "Yes," because there might as well have been a flashing neon sign proclaiming 'LOW PAIN TOLERANCE' pointing to her head. The rational part of her brain kicked into gear: people adopted orphans; kids whose parents were gone. That's what she learnt, anyway. Was Malfoy trying to _insinuate_ something...? Because Hermione didn't like where this was going. Really.

Hey, didn't Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie adopt a bunch of babies? They were _so_ cute, maybe she'd get into the adoption thing when she was older. Didn't Angelina have the co-ordinates of the places her kids were born tatooed on her arm or something? So. Utterly. Adorable. Hermione _adored_ Angelina Jolie- she was the best thi-

"In the eyes of the magical world, you're an orphan. A muggleborn," Malfoy said, completely shattering her thoughts about Angelina Jolie, "will never amount to anything."

_Oh, thanks. I mean, tell it to the girl with the self-esteem problems_, Hermione snapped at Malfoy in her head. "Then I won't be part of the magical world, then," Hermione said, still looking at her tan boots, "I can just stay here. People _like _me here."

Malfoy simply raised an eyebrow, and Hermione brushed away the irrational urge to stamp on his feet like she did to his son. "I have learnt more than I ever want to about the muggle world. I have also learnt that muggles do _not_ appreciate people such as you. If you stay here, your government will retrieve you and treat you as a lab rat for the rest of your life. You'll become an experiment, a very interesting experiment. Without parental consent."

"They wouldn't. You're just making it up," Hermione said accusingly, but Malfoy's face was perfectly serious. _No way,_ Hermione told herself sternly, _don't believe the rubbish he's saying. He's just trying to get to you._

"My kind will retrieve you by force if necessary."

Hermione's eyes widened. _His kind…? By force...? Kidnapping, I suppose. Wouldn't put it past 'them', if they're anything like Malfoy._ The more Malfoy talked about the "magical world", if it even existed, because Hermione was 99 percent sure he was loopy, the more she felt she didn't like it all that much. _Hate it, even_, she thought to herself. And the government wouldn't dare to touch her. _Because do they know who my parents are? _"Does magic really exist?"

By way of answer, Malfoy took out a long wooden stick, making Hermione flinch. He wasn't going to hit her with that, was he...? She almost breathed out a sigh of relief as he pointed the stick at one of his fallen books and swished his wand to the left. Immediately, all the books leapt back to his bookshelves and some onto his desk. Hermione almost gaped, but she closed her mouth tightly. Naomi would kill her if word got out that she was gawping like a common _tourist_.

"When Draco alerted me of what you did to him yesterday, I had him sent to the hospital immediately," Malfoy said quietly. "Healing is _dangerous_ when you do it _wrong_, do you understand?"

"Okay," Hermione said, trying not to think of ways to actually try to break Malfoy's face,"I'm sorry. I won't try to do it again." But it wasn't like she _meant_ to heal anything- she remembered feeling a _tiny_ bit sorry for Draco (because the boy looked so utterly pathetic), but more than annoyed that he was such a wimp. It wasn't like she was all hey Draco let me fix that up for ya, oh yeah did I mention I've had no medical training at all? So. Wasn't. Her. Fault.

"See to it that you don't. Draco is currently in the garden."

Oh, _wonderful_. Right, 'coz there was nothing more Hermione wanted to do than to talk to Draco Malfoy in her precious spare time. All she wanted to do was eat some ice cream and go to Naomi's house. Much to her inner rebellious punk's annoyance, Hermione nodded.

"Okay."

* * *

_Malfoy gardens._

"How are you?"

"Stuff it, Draco."

"Oh, so I'm not 'Malfoy' anymore?"

Hermione debated it, wondering when indeed had 'Lord Malfoy' transformed into 'Malfoy whose face I want to break'. Probably around the time where he was prattling on about magic and something about Angelina Jolie. Good times, good times.

"Malfoy's now your dad. Congrats, you've been promoted to first name status," she said bluntly.

Draco grinned- it wasn't always you got to see Hermione Granger throwing her version of a hissy fit. She always tried to convince herself that she was genuinely nice; but her fake niceness was so annoying. It was like she pitied him or something.

"Are you alright?"

Hermione looked at him, her straightened bangs hanging down into her face and covering her eyes. "No," she said grimly, "I'm not alright. I'm going to go and enroll in some Kendo lessons, so I'll see you around."

"Kendo? Why?" Draco sounded completely baffled as Hermione turned to leave, her iPhone already in her hand as she speed-dialled her chaffeur. He didn't picked up. Annoyed, she turned forcefully to face Draco as her manicured fingers tapped out the number for a taxi, her immaculately curled auburn hair smacking her gently in the face.

"'Coz I _really_ want to beat someone to death with a stick. Why else?

* * *

_School: Break time._

"Draco," Hermione was using her most polite voice and shot the blonde boy a meaningful glance, "could I talk to you for a minute?"

Draco didn't look too happy to see her- his silver eyes blazed pure _malevolence_. Normally, Hermione would just back off with a 'woah, chillax', but if make-up really was Draco's thing, maybe she could help him out. Because there was _waaay_ too much of it. And, well. He forgot blusher."Sure," he ground out, and followed her out of the classroom.

"What do you want," he said flatly. He didn't feel like talking to her, or to anyone else for that matter. He just wanted to be left alone- not forever- but for today at least. If Hermione was wounded by his tone, she didn't show it.

"You forgot blusher," Hermione blurted out, and immediately wished that the carpeted floor would rise up and swallow her. Then regurgitate her somewhere far, far away from the Malfoys. "Um, what I _meant_ to say was that... Well I could help you fix it up a bit, y'know?" she babbled and fidgeted a bit, looked down at her shoes, the carpet, Draco's shoes (which were, by the way, very nice). Still, the awkward silence. "There's, um. Too much of it." Hermione waved her hand in a wiping motion and felt like an idiot.

"O-_kay_, forget I said anything, Igottagotoclass_bye_-"

He caught her by the wrist as she turned to leave, and Hermione barely managed to supress a wince because it had been weeks, but the bruises there still hadn't healed yet. Four circle-shaped greenish-yellow-purpley imprints. They made Hermione feel _ugly_.

"Alright."

Hermione blinked. That, she hadn't been expecting. At all. But she guessed that if Draco wanted to feel pretty, the least Hermione could do was to help. It wasn't like Draco could get make-up tips from his _dad_, she scoffed to herself, and someone had to show him the delights of blusher. And eyeliner. And eyelash curlers and _squeee, _mascara!

"You're lucky that your skin is _about_ the same tone as mine," Hermione told him as he shuffled into the girl's bathroom, and she rolled her eyes at his reluctance. It wasn't like _every other person_ was in class, and _she_ was stuck extolling the virtues of eyeliner, and advancing on Malfoy with makeup wipes in one hand and twirling Burt's Bee's lip balm in the other. "Come _on_, I'm missing Chemistry for this." Hermione tapped her foot impatiently as Draco reluctantly stood in front of the mirror, glaring at his reflection.

"I didn't beg you for this," Draco muttered under his breath, but Hermione merely grinned at him. This was going to be so much fun! "I don't need you here."

"'Course you do," she chirped cheerfully as she started to wipe the layers of foundation off quickly, her eyes going to her precious bright yellow Invicta watch. _Sorry chemistry,_ Hermione silently wept. They were going to do bases and alkalis this week, and while Hermione had read the chapter and done the homework on it _(finally keeping on top of homework for once! Score!)_, she liked chemistry.

_Oh._

Her fingers grasped at nothing as the wipe _(antibacterial! removes all make up, leaving no trace!)_ fell to the ground. "Oops," Hermione said in an entirely too-bright tone of voice, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment- she had actually thought that _Draco Malfoy wanted to be pretty! _Small purpley-blue bruises dotted his cheeks like paint splatters, and Hermione didn't want to know _anything_ about them. "Taken up boxing?" she asked lightly as she reached into her oversized yellow canvas tote to pull out her make up bag, grabbing some concealer. Okay, so she was a bit sceptical that her make up would work on Draco.

"What do you think," Draco said, in the same flat voice that made her wince. "You're supposed to be the smartest girl in the year."

Hermione shot Draco a frustrated look that said _I know right?_, and dabbed powder concealer lightly onto his face with one of her disposable sponges. "So... nice weather we've been having lately."

Draco ignored the attempt at small talk, and Hermione got the message: just get on with it.

"You won't tell anyone about this," Draco said, but his voice was so unthreatening that Hermione found it hard to take it as a threat, "because you don't want to get hurt. But you _will_ get hurt, Hermione," okay, she wasn't sure whether he was threatening her or not anymore, "because you've met my father. And I know what he said to you- he asked you about adoption. And he hit you too, and once he does, he won't stop. So," Draco smiled bitterly, "you better keep some foundation on hand. If you heal even one bruise, he'll know. Next time, he'll _scar_ your pretty face."

"Don't worry about me, Draco," Hermione flipped her hair over her shoulder and flashed him a winning smile. "If I were you, I'd look out for myself more." She nodded at his face, now neatly covered up with concealer, woefully without blusher, trying to make light of the situation.

Draco smiled tiredly, but the curve of his lips was completely disconnected from the rest of his face. "Thanks, Hermione."

Then he strode back into the classroom without so much a goodbye.

Hermione didn't bother being offended as she grabbed her stuff and headed off to chemistry class, or what was left of it. Her sharp mind made quick bullet points in her head, effectively summarizing Draco's words.

Malfoy had hit Draco.

Malfoy was going to continue to hit Draco.

Draco knew what Malfoy had said to her last week.

Adoption. Hermione didn't even want to _think_ about what that meant for her, or why Malfoy had asked her about it.

If Malfoy hit her again, and she healed the bruises, he would scar her next time.

Draco thought she was… pretty?

Hermione quickly got rid of that last thought- it was just so petty and superficial now, in light of everything else. She had more things to think about, like the whole thing about _Malfoy being __**abusive**_, and how she was going to protect herself _(and her face)_. But still… Draco Malfoy had told her she was pretty. That was something.

She prayed that no one was around to see her blush.

* * *

_Biology lab_

"Sorry, Mr. Neull, I have to borrow Hermione for the rest of the lesson."

Hermione blinked as her form teacher strode into the lab in her dowdy english teacher clothes, her hair up in its signature messy bun. Mr. Neull nodded at her in that resigned way and had simply said "You should pack," like it didn't matter that his star student was freaking _missing his class!_ A little more concern would have been nice, Hermione thought, disgruntled.

And Miss Carmichaels had just dumped her here in a geography classroom and told her to wait for Mr. Avery, which was pretty confusing. What had the flute teacher, a geography classroom, and her have in common? Plus, Hermione grumbled a little, biology wasn't even _close_ to being over, and that was seriously mean. Attending class was like a basic student right! Plus, she was thirsty.

"Hermione Granger?" Hermione blinked, turned around, and nearly fell off her chair in the process. Balance wasn't really one of her stronger points, much to Naomi's exasperation. But half of the whole nearly falling flat on her face thing was because she hadn't really _(ever)_ seen Mr. Avery before _(just heard about him)_, and he looked really… weird.

He had light scars all over his face.

"

"Hi Mr. Avery," Hermione greeted warily, because even after years of being told that she shouldn't judge a book by it's cover, she couldn't really bring herself to trust a scar-faced man. Yeah, he could've had a tragic accident and it was so, _so_ superficial of her, but scars meant knives and other pointy things, which meant pain, which meant danger that no amount of chemical peeling could help.

Thus, Mr. Avery was deemed as dangerous.

He smiled, and his scars seemed to smile with him. "I see you're interested in my scars."

Eh… Interested wasn't really the operative word here, but he was a teacher. "Uhm, yeah!" Hermione smiled back at him, "they're really… uhm. Interesting. Yeah." She mentally smacked herself- _stop babbling and being an idiot_. "How did you get them?"

The moment the words popped out of her mouth, she wanted the earth to rise up and swallow her whole. Students weren't really supposed to ask teachers personal questions, right? Oh god she had messed up _royally_ and even being a top student wouldn't get her out of this faux-pas.

"A poisoned blade cut me," he explained without batting an eye, "so scars were the least of my worries. But we all have our own crosses to bear."

Poisoned blade? Like… a kitchen knife laced with cyanide or something? Weird, but seriously _ouch_, Hermione winced, feeling sorry for Mr. Avery immediately.

"Oh! Um, you could just call me Hermione," because someone calling a nine year old 'Miss Granger' was seriously weird. _Note to self: stop saying um._ "And… if you don't like them, you could always have skin grafts…?"

Hermione's fingers twitched the moment the words left her mouth, as if she wanted to slap her hand to her mouth. She had just suggested to the flute teacher that he get plastic surgery. _Hermione, you have simply outdone yourself, _she congratulated herself grumpily.

Mr. Avery just laughed quietly, a long finger trailing his scars. "If I remove these scars, it'll be like removing part of me. But thank you for the suggestion anyway, Hermione," he smiled warmly at her, and that was when she realised how _young_ he looked. He looked like he should be in school or something. And kind of creepy, what he had said about his scars.

Mr. Avery pulled out the stool next to her and slouched on it, propping his head on laced fingers. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes and dissected her in less than a fifth of a second.

Hermione Granger was definitely as Draco Malfoy described her. Pretty, _(the blonde's words, not his)_, well-dressed… innocent. A tad careless with her words, Draco had added, but Avery was going to reserve his judgment for now. She was rather amusing, to be honest. No one else had really suggested skin grafts to him before, mostly just staring at his face, with their mouths slightly open. And the awkwardness afterwards was always… well, so _awkward._

"Lord Malfoy sent me."

Hermione's eyes went wide for just a second at the mention of Malfoy's name, her mind immediately shifting into code red mode and flashing her pictures of Draco's heavily made-up face. And his bruised face. Wait, why did Malfoy send him? Hermione's eyes widened, and it took all her self-control not to run out of the room because was the flute teacher going to beat her up as well? He was just a couple of years older than her, that would be freaky. But she'd learnt that Malfoy was the textbook definition of a freak.

"Well," Mr. Avery said lightly, "let's start the lesson. What is magic?"

"Lesson?" Hermione echoed, her perfectly plucked brows knitting together in confusion.

"Lesson," he repeated, making her feel a little stupid. "So. What is magic?"

Oh dear _lord_, not that again. Didn't they have slightly better things to do with their time? Hermione supressed an internal sigh. Like, could they _not_ stop thinking about top hats and being freaky for _five seconds_?

"Card tricks and pulling bunnies out of hats?" she guessed with a small smile.

Lord Malfoy _had_ told him this would be hard. Turning a muggle into a witch required time, patience, and _more_ patience.

"Magic is will and power," he told Hermione. "Now, what is magic?'

"… Card tricks and pulling bunnies out of hats," Hermione said apologetically. "Sorry. You can't tell me the sky's lime green when I've always thought it was blue, y'know?"

Avery sighed inwardly- this was going to be a longer year than he thought.


End file.
